I'm a Sleepwalker, Let Me out of This Dream
by BobHasRainbowVeins
Summary: Tony is sleepwalking into the team's beds. First, they're mortified, then they're "Awww" when they realize he's sleepwalking after a nightmare and just want to cuddle and feel safe. Each member reacts his or her own way, but they eventually give in and snuggle whenever Tony sleepily wanders in.


Sleepwalking.

It was a habit Tony had picked up at a young age when he'd had night terrors. Even being the bright kid that he was, he still had dark dreams that sent his body into panic mode and subconsciously made him seek out the warmth of another person. He would unknowingly wander into his parent's bedroom and crawl onto his mother's side of the bed, curling up against her and taking in her comfortingly familiar scent. It was always Maria who he slept beside, especially after learning the hard way what happened when he disturbed Howard. There had been quite a lot of yelling and tears, and poor Tony was just confused and shaken.

As Tony got older, he began to block out his fears with alcohol. It was unsettling to him that after drinking, he never dreamt, but it was better than nightmares. It stopped him from embarrassing himself in front of others and allowed him to become more introverted and withdrawn. His method for solving his sleepwalking problem wasn't ideal, but it worked for him.

Until he quit the alcohol and became sober.

As an adult, his nightmares were terrible. They inspired his alcoholism, encouraged it, and as the nightmares grew worse into things that could be related to PTSD, so did his drinking.

With the help of his teammates and under their close vigilance, he got rid of most of the alcohol and kept what was left out of reach (unless of course he wanted to go through a few super spies—not exactly his idea of a good time). He could've been bitter, but instead he felt…grateful. It felt good to be able to think straight and live without having to fall back and rely on alcohol. After getting over the huge hump of withdrawal symptoms, Tony was happier. He was happier than he had been in a long time.

Happiness was short-lived, however, when the nightmares came back. He should've known, really, because they _always_ _came back_. Luckily for him, the first few never left his bed and he woke up gasping and shaking, covered in a cold sweat. The more he had, the more paranoid and anxious he became. What if the sleepwalking came back? What if his teammates found out? He knew how they would react; his brain provided him with perfect images of the irritation and taunt on their faces. Thoughts like those made him itch for his cure, but he knew that letting his teammates down was probably worse than being made fun of. He was tired of letting down all the people he cared about, and so he became even more careful, picking up a glass of water whenever his hand felt empty and his palate was craving what it didn't need and couldn't have. Everything would be fine, he told himself, plastering on a smile that radiated fake confidence.

Just as he had predicted, it happened.

**-X-O-X-**

The first time he sleepwalked, he ended up in Thor's room, at a time when the Thunder God just happened to be staying in the tower with the rest of the Avengers. At the opening of his door, Thor rolled over onto his back and squinted, trying to see through the darkness. He watched as Tony's dark figure shuffled into the room, the door being left open behind him. Thor's eyes took several moments to adjust before he could clearly identify the rumpled person walking toward his bed as Tony.

"What… Tony? Is there trouble?" Thor asked softly, propping himself up on his elbows to get a better look at him. He could tell something was off with the way his arms were crossed as is he was cold, and how his entire body was trembling, eyes unfocused. He didn't respond to Thor's voice, either. He simply pulled the bed sheets back and made himself comfortable under them, curling up against Thor's chest, using him as a pillow.

Thor was still for several moments, watching Tony as he eased himself back into a sleeping state. He was confused, obviously, but he wasn't going to make a big deal over it. If his friend needed company, he would gladly offer it.

He yawned tiredly and without a second thought, slid his arm underneath Tony and wrapped it around him, holding him safely against his chest. And without even knowing it, Thor chased away the bad dreams without magic or Mjölnir.

Tony had been mortified when he woke up and found himself in a bed that wasn't his. Year ago, that wouldn't have been too much of a surprise, but he knew exactly whose bed he was in and how he had gotten there. When he strode into the kitchen, tense and ready for confrontation, Thor only gave him a kind smile and his usual boisterous greeting.

**-X-O-X-**

The second time it happened, it was Bruce's room he travelled to. Though he was sitting up reading a book in bed, trying to work his way down to sleep, he startled when his door opened without preamble. He slapped his book down onto his lap and struggled to calm his racing heart. "Jesus, Tony, what did I tell you about knocking? Do you want me to Hulk out in the middle of the night? –Well actually, you seem like the type of person who would enjoy that sort of 'excitement', but seriously!"

His voice was sharp and loud, more so than he had intended, and Tony flinched, curling in on himself, though he didn't stop advancing into the room toward Bruce's bed. Bruce found it strange that Tony's eyes never left the ground, and his movements were slow and uncoordinated. It wasn't enough for him to guess what was wrong, but it did help calm him down, his anger melting into worry. "Tony, why—oh hey there..!"

Tony didn't even bother with the sheets, flopping down onto Bruce's bed and rolling over until his face was tucked against the man's blanketed thigh. Bruce could see nothing but exhaustion on Tony's face, even as he slept, and he couldn't help the part of him that felt the need to be a Mother Hen.

He stayed up that night, sacrificing sleep in order to finish his book and watch over Tony, running his fingers through his coarse brown hair every so often.

Waking up made Tony wish he hadn't, when he opened his eyes to find Bruce slumped against the bed's headboard, looking like he hadn't slept for days despite the fact that he was sleeping in that moment. Tony couldn't help the guilt that washed over him as he could still feel Bruce's fingers ghosting through his hair. In the back of his mind, he cursed himself 1,000 times over.

**-X-O-X-**

A few weeks later, Natasha became acquainted with Tony's sleepwalking. By the time he was a few steps into the room, Natasha was already on her feet, gripping a sharp dagger in her hand. She was poised and ready to strike as if expecting a stranger to have come into her room to attack her while she was sleeping. And though she could see it was Tony, she kept her defensive stance.

"What do you want, Stark?" she spat rather harshly, angered by the fact that she was startled so easily.

Tony stared at her with a blank expression, stumbling into her personal space. With every step he took forward, she took two back, until she was up against the wall with nowhere to go. Natasha's mouth warped into a snarl and she held the knife right against her breast. If he didn't stop, she would cut him. Without hesitation, she was going to stab him. _He could be brainwashed or it could be an imposter_, she thought, her mind running through every possibility, logical or not.

All of her theories were disproved when Tony stopped, leaning toward Natasha and resting his head on her shoulder. "They're gonna get me," he said in a small voice, slurring his words, "Don't let them get me, please."

Natasha was at a loss, unsure what to do or say. She was shocked by the fact that the man was coming to her for comfort, and that he didn't even seem awake. Or, at least she didn't think he was. "Tony, what are you doing in here? Go to bed," she spoke, trying to get a reaction from him.

It was like he hadn't heard her. He didn't acknowledge that she had spoken and instead stepped away from her, climbing onto her bed and curling up into a ball under the covers.

With the little response and Tony's sudden fear of 'them' getting him, Natasha was able to piece together what was happening; sleepwalking and a nightmare. It made her think of the comfort she never received as a child, as it was a luxury she could not afford. The part of her that was fearful of everything, assassins, nightmares, monsters, felt sorry for Tony.

While she was still upset about him interrupting her sleep and nearly scaring her out of her skin, she set her feelings aside and let out a long sigh. It was obvious that Tony needed her, and so she helped in the only way she knew how. She carefully lay down in the bed, scooting close to her teammate without touching him. Unlike Bruce's way of comfort with gentle fingers, she chose to sing. Her voice was low so as to not wake up anyone else, and the whispered words were hardly audible. It was in Russian, of course, a lullaby she'd known for so many years. She sang until she herself was lulled to sleep by the calming tune.

When the morning came and Tony cracked his eyes open, he found a pair of green eyes staring back at him. Even as he scrambled out of bed, rambled excuses flowing freely from his mouth, Natasha was silent. Who was she to judge him, after all.

**-X-O-X-**

Master spies and assassins were entirely capable of keeping secrets, if they wanted to. Between Clint and Natasha, however, they had found it best to limit the secrets between them. So when Tony sleepwalked into Natasha's room, Clint found out the next day. It wasn't her way of making fun of him, though, it was more of a warning. Clint was the first to expect it before it happened.

It took several more weeks and another visit to Natasha's room before Tony was fumbling with Clint's door handle in a sad and desperate attempt to get into his room. Clint, who was messing with his phone, immediately stood up and made for the door. Opening the door revealed a disheveled Tony that stumbled into him. He had been expecting that too- Natasha had said that his coordination was terrible. Then again, he _was _asleep, so it wasn't really surprising if he was out of control or couldn't do normal things properly.

"Ok, jesus you're heavy, Stark," Clint grunted, sliding his hands under the man's arms so he could get a firm grip on him and drag him into his room, making sure to turn and kick the door shut before he got very far.

Tony mumbled something incoherent and Clint ignored him in favor of focusing on dragging him to bed. When he felt they were close enough, he pushed Tony down rather unceremoniously. He flopped a bit before settling on his stomach, his legs in a splayed jumble his arms were eagle spread and the side of his face was smushed against the bed sheets. It was a priceless view, and if Clint took a moment to snap a few pictures before settling back on his bed, no one would know.

And, he decided, what better way to celebrate the fact that a sleeping, vulnerable Tony Stark was in his bed than to take pictures of them together (Clint smiling obnoxiously, Tony drooling on his shoulder) and sending them to Natasha, snapchatting back and forth. He knew he was way too entertained by the situation, but he'd almost been looking forward to it. Though to be honest, it wasn't what he'd been expecting. As Natasha described it, Tony was awake without a brain, and the only thing he knew how to do was seek out the warmth of another person. With Clint, however, he had been out like a light as soon as he fell into him and had to be dragged into the room. The extra tiredness could've been attributed to the fact that he'd been in the workshop for two days before he went to bed. _Oh well_, he sent Natasha, _he's still pretty adorable. Is it weird that I think that?_

**_No, Clint, it's not weird. I guess it's because once you get past his personality and his nonstop jabbering, he's actually sort of cute. Or something like that_**_, _was the reply he got from Natasha.

Clint tapped away at his phone, eager to send back something along the lines of 'is that a crush I see?' when arms slid around his waist and Tony tucked his face in the crook of his neck. Clint yelped in surprise, accidentally sending his message as it was. _Are you crushing on him, Tashjknmhlb_

His phone pinged a few seconds later._**You alright there?**_

He paused in his message-sending, feeling a pang of _something_ as he watched Tony curl around him. As ridiculous as his sleeping face was, Clint felt bad that the whole reason he was in his room was because he was constantly plagued by nightmares. Poor guy.

_He's curling up against me koala style. Startled the pants off of me, _he eventually replied.

**_Yeah, he'll do that. At least he doesn't kick in his sleep, he just clings to you. I'm going to bed, I suggest you do the same. Meeting at SHIELD with Fury, 0800._**

_Fiiiiiine. Don't leave without me again or I'll use you as a target for shooting practice._

Clint sighed heavily, sliding his phone under his pillow and settling down. He slowly drifted to sleep listening to the chorus of snores that came from Tony, his light breath tickling his neck.

When Tony woke up past noon, he wasn't even surprised that he was in Clint's room. He'd given up on surprise the morning he'd woken up to Natasha staring at him for the second time. He'd also given up hope of getting better. Oh well, it wasn't like it mattered. Everyone probably knew about his problems and talked about them behind his back anyway. It didn't matter.

-**X-O-X-**

And then there was Steve; tall, perfect blond hair, bright spirit, and enough strength to easily snap a normal human being in half. He was… different. While he didn't know about Tony's 'nightly habits', he could tell that something was off with his friend. Tony was slowly isolating himself more and more, skipping breakfast in favor of working in the lab. For all Steve knew, he had stopped sleeping all together and was instead burying himself in his work. It reminded him of that dark shadow looming over Tony, the one that would probably always be there. It was like back when he drank, or at least nearly as destructive.

He'd brought up his observations to Natasha, who had the sharpest eyes out of all of them (not including Clint; unlike him, she was incredibly skilled when it came to reading people). The redhead said very little, looking like she knew more than she was letting on. He didn't push the subject, though, and figured that perhaps it was better for him to mind his own business.

To say that Steve was clueless would be inaccurate, but he definitely wasn't expecting to be shaken from sleep by another person getting into his bed. It was nothing like it had been for the other Avengers, though. It was disastrous.

That particular day, there had been a rough fight that ended in Steve being flung into the icy water of a nearby bay. Iron Man had fished him out quickly and after a few bouts of relentless pestering, Steve managed to convince everyone that he was fine. However, growing up on the poor, ratty streets of early 20th century Brooklyn had made him a talented liar. He was anything but fine. The ghostly feeling of water surrounding and choking him didn't leave, nor did the chill.

Sleeping that night was one of the worst decisions he'd made in a long time. His dreams were shrouded in the darkness of his past mixed with the confusion of the future. He was trapped in his own mind, reliving his horrors, old and new. His dreams were so inescapable that he didn't wake at the sound of his door being opened and closed. He didn't sit up and bed and follow Tony's figure with his eyes, wondering what he was doing. He just lay still other than the occasional twitch and shake, his hands clenching the sheets with all of his strength.

As deep of a sleep he was in, all it took was a single touch, like a snap of fingers, and he was awake and alert. Tony had been snuggling himself under the covers of Steve's bed, and he rolled over a fraction of an inch, causing the bed to dip and his arm to brush Steve's hand. The super-soldier immediately shot up and rolled over on top of him, pinning his wrists up above his head with one hand and pressing his free arm forcefully against his neck. Tony's eyes flew open wide, and he came face to face with a madman. He couldn't help the frightened whine that came out of him, or the way his body began to shake horribly, not just a soft tremble. His fear snapped Steve out of it and he came back to himself. His expression morphed from vicious to horrified in an instant and he let go of Tony as if he had been burned, moving away from him to the other side of the bed. The moment he was free, Tony threw his legs over the side of the bed opposite from Steve and simply sat, his head in his hands.

"Oh my god, Tony, I am so sorry! I didn't mean to—It was an accident, are you ok—"

Tony couldn't hear the man over the ringing in his ears, over his own thoughts. His mind replayed a memory over and over again, one that mirrored what had just happened between him and Steve, except with his father. The one time he had tried to crawl into his side of the bed, he was backhanded straight out of the bed onto the floor, and that's when the yelling began. '_Tony, what the hell do you think you're doing? I was _trying_ to sleep. Get out of here, __**now**__! What, do you want me to beat you boy? __**Go!**_'

Tony closed his eyes tightly and sighed, trying to shut out the memory. Unlike Howard, Steve had meant him no harm. He was a soldier who carried a huge burden on his shoulders; _of course_ it was dangerous to wake him from his sleep. Steve wasn't mad at him, wasn't yelling at him, so it was fine. He would just apologize, leave the room, and pretend it never happened.

God, how he wanted a drink.

Behind him, Steve was frantic. From the angle he knelt on the bed and bent his neck, he could see the dark purple bruises as they formed on Tony's wrists, and he could just imagine the mark on his neck. What had he done, oh _God_ what had he _done_?

And then, Tony was leaving. "Hey, sorry about that, Cap. I didn't mean to scare you. It's a thing, you know? Me sleepwalking into other people's beds when I have nightmares. What can you do, though. Let's just forget this ever happened and next time you can lock your door so I don't bother you." He rambled all the way to the door, and his hand was on the handle before Steve finally got up and stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

"No, don't. Uh. Look, _I'm _sorry. I, uhm," Steve hesitated, wetting his lips with his tongue, "I'm not ok."

Tony's shoulder tensed beneath his hand, a sign that he was listening, and Steve continued shakily. "I'm not ok, Tony. What happened there, that was how ok I am. And the water, I guess it kind of set me off. You woke me up from something real bad, and it was like I wasn't in control of my body. I thought you were a monster, something I had to kill, and it was awful. This is why you find me in the gym in the middle of the night half of the time. It's not because I'm that much of an early riser, it's just that I…"

"Can't sleep," Tony finished for him, his shoulders slumping. He understood all too well and wished that there was something he could say, something comforting or charming, but he was at a loss for words. Instead of speaking, he remembered the handle in his hand and began to turn it.

"Tony, wait! Wait…" Steve begged, tightening his grip on Tony's shoulder minutely. "You said you go sleep with others when you're afraid, or haunted. Wh-why? Is it because you want someone to tell you it's alright or because you need something familiar or—"

"It's because I'm… I'm cold? In a way. I could just turn the heat up, well, I don't know if I can sleep_talk_ though. But that wouldn't help. It's, ah, kind of weird. It's like I'm cold in a way that only another person can fix?" Tony mumbled, feeling the tips of his ears burn with shame and embarrassment. It was definitely the last thing he wanted to talk about, and Steve was the last person he wanted to be talking to about it.

The blond took in a large breath and squeezed Tony's shoulder before gently tugging the man into his arms, wrapping them around his chest and tucking his face into the crook of his neck. "Tony…"

"Tony, I'm cold. Please don't leave?"

He let go of the door handle.

-**X-O-X-**

So, Tony's secret was out. There were some things the Avengers just didn't talk about, though, and it was an unspoken rule that they didn't talk about _it_. After all, what was there to say? So, Tony had nightmares. They all did, and they all coped in different ways. Steve would hit the gym, and Thor would pace in the kitchen. Sometimes Bruce would watch TV, sometimes he would go down to R&D. Natasha and Clint would visit each other's rooms where they would sit in silence together. And Tony, well, he was just a little different. They were all patient with him, though, and kept their doors unlocked in case he needed them.

And on one predictably bad night, the team did something that Tony couldn't comprehend or explain. One by one they filed into his room and got comfortable on his bed. Steve took one side next to Tony, wrapping him up in his strong his arms and spooning up against him, while on his other side, Natasha lay, humming and combing her fingers through his hair. Bruce squeezed in behind her, preferring the edge, even if it was cramped. Thor and Clint sat at the end of the bed, trading looks and making faces at each other.

Just like that, Tony was safe. They were his beacon of light that shone through his dark thoughts and chased them away. That night, they were not Avengers, but protectors, his _family_. And as they all got settled into bed and drifted off to sleep, Tony didn't have the heart to open his eyes and tell them that he was awake.


End file.
